


Stricta Dormire

by klove0511



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fairy Tale Type Death, Grief/Mourning, Hell Trauma, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Sad Castiel, Sad Dean Winchester, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Temporary Character Death, True Love's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 04:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17676872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klove0511/pseuds/klove0511
Summary: When Sam is hit by a spell, Cass is the only one that can save him. Meanwhile, Dean is grieving his brother, unaware of the struggle going on within Sam’s mind.





	Stricta Dormire

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sastiel Creations Challenge Round 6. Prompt: One More, Music
> 
> I'd like to thank everyone who read this fic and gave me feedback! Thank you so much @katekvnes, @ohnoitsthebat, and @cerberus-s!

The world blurred, and Cass found himself in a dark, crowded room that suddenly filled with light and noise from somewhere behind him. He whirled and saw a stage, with musicians. Some sort of performance, then. He cast about, looking for Sam. There, a few feet to his left, looking younger than Cass had ever seen him. Cass’s jaw clenched. He was running out of time.

He pushed through the crowd to stand next to Sam. “Sam!” he shouted, trying to be heard over the din.

Sam looked around, and his look of confusion told Cass when he’d been spotted. “Who are you?” Sam asked.

Cass hesitated. This Sam was an unknown to him. Dean was nowhere in sight, so it was entirely possible this memory was from Sam’s time at school. It wasn’t a period the Winchesters talked about, and Castiel knew enough to assume it was associated with painful memories. Still, one thing he could count on was that the brothers would do anything for each other. He hoped that had always been as true as it was now.

Finally, he spoke. “I’m a friend of Dean’s.” True enough, in any case. Sam could always tell when he was lying.

Sam looked him over, appraising. “Okay,” he said slowly. “So why are you here?”

The suspicion in his voice hurt, but Castiel reminded himself that Sam didn’t know him. He didn’t remember their relationship, their history. “I need your help.”

“Ask Dean and Dad. You’re a hunter, right? I don’t do that anymore. Can’t help you.” He turned back to the music.

Castiel frowned. “I cannot ask them to help me.”

Sam quirked an eyebrow.

“Dean requested my help first.” Also true, if a tad misleading. Castiel could still hear the desperation in Dean’s aborted prayers, knowing Castiel was too far away to help.

Sam was immediately on alert. “What about Dad? Are they ok?”

Castiel rushed to reassure him. “Dean is uninjured. Though I have never met your father, I am sure he is fine as well.” That was stretching the truth so thin he was sure Sam would call him on it, considering John Winchester was dead. Still, he was enjoying his heaven, and that was, in many ways, doing fine. The direct approach had failed multiple times now, however, and at least this version of Sam was still engaging him.

“You’ve never met him? Is Dean hunting on his own? Where the hell is Dad?” Sam was becoming agitated, something Castiel was not prepared for. He had understood Sam’s relationship with his father to be tumultuous at best, outright hostile at its worst. He was not ready to discuss John’s whereabouts, especially because they were not in the least relevant to the situation.

“Dean was hunting, but he was not alone. There was a witch.” Cass saw Sam open his mouth to ask more questions or protest further and hurried to cut him off. “She cast a spell on his hunting partner. Neither Dean nor your father were affected by the spell.”

“And Dean asked you for help.” Sam nodded, seeming to accept this abbreviated version of events. “That doesn’t really explain what you’re doing here.”

Castiel took a steadying breath. Hurdle one cleared. “That is more complicated. Perhaps we can go somewhere quieter?” On command, the concert melted around them, and a forest took its place. He swallowed hard. He hadn’t expected his request to be met so readily, and he feared he’d entered another new memory. Luckily, Sam was still next to him and appeared to be unchanged. Perhaps it would work this time.

 

_48 Hours Earlier_

The witch finished her spell as Dean pulled the trigger, and he watched helplessly as power pulsed from her hand just before red blossomed on her chest. One of his worst memories repeated itself when he turned to check on Sam just in time to watch his brother crash to the ground.

“Sam!” Dean yelled, falling to his knees by Sam’s side. Bad, this was bad.

He hadn’t been paying attention to what the witch had been saying. The spell could have been anything. It had obviously knocked Sam out. Except his hand, which had instinctively gripped tight to Sam’s shirt, wasn’t moving.

“No, no, no, no,” he muttered.

 The bottom dropped out of his stomach as he fumbled to feel a pulse in Sam’s neck. Nothing. Dean’s eyes burned. He pressed a hand over Sam’s heart and willed it to beat, to no avail.

“Come on, man. Don’t do this,” he said, as tears blurred his vision. The knowledge settled heavily in his mind. Sam was gone. His mind automatically turned to Cass, but he shut that down fast. They were hours away, and Cass hadn’t had the power for a resurrection in years.

 

Castiel had just begun a new episode of The Good Place when he felt it. A tug on his grace almost like a prayer, then sharp, blinding pain. He gasped as it subsided, and he barely caught the tail end of a prayer from Dean. Something had happened to Sam. He pulled out his phone and dialed. He wasn’t really expecting an answer, but he’d hoped. It went straight to voicemail. So did Sam’s. He tried not to worry. The Winchesters were excellent at taking care of each other.

 

Hours later, Dean’s phone rang again, for probably the twentieth time. He glanced at the caller ID before answering. “Cass.”

“What happened?”

He couldn’t do this, not over the phone, not with Cass. Except he didn’t have much choice, did he? Still, the words wouldn’t come. Finally, he managed to croak, “Sam.”

Apparently that was enough for Cass to interpret. After a moment he heard Cass say, “How?” His voice sounded rougher than usual.

“Spell,” Dean replied.

A pause. “Is the witch dead?”

Dean breathed, trying to steady himself. The hope in Cass’s voice almost broke him. “Yeah, she is. Sorry.” No chance the spell would break with her death. No hope this was a mistake. “I’m on my way back.”

Cass didn’t quite managed to stifle the wounded sound that escaped from him. “What can I do? Should I contact Rowena?”

God, no. Anything but her. “No. Just—Can you call my mom? You don’t have to tell her. Just get her to come back.”

“And Jack?”

Shit. Dean hadn’t really thought about Jack and how he would take this. What with Jack’s recent return to life and having lost—and regained—Sam himself less than a year ago, he guessed it was going to be bad. No way was he going to understand why Dean was letting Sam go, how he knew this time was for keeps.

“Up to you,” Dean said. “I can tell him if you want.”

“No. I will tell him.” There was strength in Cass’s voice this time. “Be safe.”

 

Sam looked at the trees critically. “We were just at a concert. What the hell is going on?”

Castiel recognized this as the best time to come clean. “We are in your memories. You, Sam, were the one hit by the spell.”

“I don’t hunt,” he said, shaking his head in denial, but Castiel could see recognition growing in his expression. “I know you.” He squinted, looking to the side as he poked at his memories. “Your name is…Cass. You hate me.” He frowned, as though the statement didn’t taste quite right.

Castiel flinched. “That could not be further from the truth. I care for you very much.”

“You said my voice was grating.”

Castiel grimaced. Sam had remembered a particularly embarrassing memory for the angel.

“You called me an abomination!” Sam said.

Cass tilted his head in acknowledgement. There were no excuses for that. “The beginning of our relationship was difficult. It has…gotten better.”

Sam turned away, brow furrowed. “What’s with the trees?”

“I’m not sure. You have told me several stories that involve forests, but I would expect to see another version of yourself if we had entered a memory such as the last one.” Cass looked up. Sun filtered through the trees and warmed his face. Sam had only told him one kind of story with a calm, beautiful forest like this.

 

Dean drove fourteen hours straight, only stopping for gas. Sam was lying in the backseat, and Dean didn’t want to leave for the time it would take to get food. He wasn’t hungry anyway. He just wanted to be home.

By the time he arrived at the bunker he knew he was running on fumes, but he couldn’t feel it. He didn’t feel tired or hungry, just numb. It didn’t matter. He had to finish taking care of Sam, get him cleaned up.

“Let me help.” Cass’s voice startled Dean so much he almost dropped Sam as he was pulling him from the backseat.

He should let Cass help. He knew it, he did, but it wasn’t in him to pass this job to anyone else. Not even Cass.

 

Castiel watched Dean disappear into the bunker, struggling under Sam’s weight. He knew he wouldn’t be allowed to help, but it stung. If he’d still had wings, if he’d kept the power that had allowed him to revive Bobby once upon a time, this wouldn’t be happening. Mary wouldn’t be grieving her son; Jack wouldn’t be short a father. He wouldn’t—No. Self-pity served no purpose here.

Mary was on her way and would be arriving any time. Jody and the girls would be arriving tomorrow. He would start building the pyre, as Sam had once done for him, then perhaps the humans would send him out to run errands. Jody had said she would spread the word through the hunter community, and Mary and Bobby were contacting the people from Apocalypse World, recalling them to the bunker. There would be many people, and as he had learned so painfully, humans needed to eat. Himself, he needed to keep busy, especially since Jack had refused to speak to him for the last twelve hours.

He popped the trunk and rummaged until he found an axe. This, at least, he could do.

 

“I believe you come to this forest when you are near death,” Castiel said. “This spell is killing you, and we are running out of time.”

“Then what are we waiting for? What do we have to do?” Sam turned back to face Cass, his eyes wide and his forehead wrinkled in concern.

Cass looked away. “If I understood the spell correctly, it involves accepting the worst of yourself.”

“Ok, great, I accept it. Now what?” Sam flung his arms out in frustration. “If I’m dying, why the runaround earlier?”

“I’m sorry. This was not my first attempt to help you. Previous attempts have gone rather poorly,” Cass said. Sam quirked an eyebrow, obviously waiting for further explanation. “You have to actually remember the worst of yourself in order to accept it.”

Sam groaned in understanding. “And, of course, I barely remember anything. That the spell too?”

“I believe so, but that is only part of the problem. The you I met in more recent memories, a version of you capable of remembering, was not ready to accept this solution.”

“When you say the ‘worst of me,’ what exactly are you talking about?” Sam asked.

“If I am correct, then it means accepting the worst of your memories, the worst things that have happened to you. Taking them back into yourself.” Castiel met Sam’s eyes. “You don’t understand what that means. You barely even remember me, and we are—“Cass stopped. They had never formally defined what they were to each other. More than friends, than family. More than simply lovers.

“We’re what, Cass?” Sam asked softly. Before his eyes, Sam melted and changed, and gone was the twenty year old with shaggy hair and a bright smile. Instead Cass faced his Sam, complete with worry lines and stray gray hairs.

Castiel swallowed the lump in his throat. He took a deep breath and said, “Everything.”

“Show me, one more time? Help me remember?” Sam said, so softly Cass barely caught it. Then the world blurred, and they were in a bar.

 

Some time later, Dean wasn’t sure how long, Sam was clean and dressed. Dean sat a vigil by his bed, still unwilling to leave his side. It was Mary that got him to move.

“You should come eat something,” she said. “Let others say their goodbyes.”

It was hard, but he let her tug him to his feet and led him out to the common rooms. They were, inexplicably, filled with people. His shock must have shown because she said, “After Castiel called me I had him call Jody. Word spread fast. We should,” her voice faltered a moment. “We should talk about the funeral. I thought tomorrow morning would be good, but I didn’t— Not without your input.”

Dean grunted. “That’s fine. These—They’re all here for Sam?” He recognized some as the hunters from Apocalypse World, others as hunters he and Sam knew. Others looked familiar, but he couldn’t place them, and many more were totally unfamiliar. People were everywhere, talking, eating, laughing. How could they laugh? Sam was _dead_. Dean’s world had ended, and his home was full of laughing people.

Anger bubbled up until he heard Sam’s name. He listened, eavesdropping without making any conscious decision to do so.

“And then he blasted the ghoul to pieces! Never even broke a sweat. I’m telling you, it was _epic_.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time Sam and Dean helped me with a demon up in Syracuse?”

“Sam saved my ass from—”

“He was amazing. He saved—”

“I’ll never forget—”

Snippets of conversation floated around him. They were all sharing stories about Sam, about how his little brother had touched their lives. And it—Sam—was making them happy. His eyes burned. His pain had in no way diminished, but he suddenly understood why people held wakes. It felt good to know Sam would be remembered.

Eventually, someone recognized that he had joined the crowd. Before he knew what was happening, Donna was smothering him in a hug. Then Jody and the girls appeared. Someone pushed Dean into a chair, and someone else brought him food. Jody ordered him to eat, her eyes shining. Dean pushed the plate away, claiming he wasn’t hungry.

“When was the last time you ate?” Alex asked.

He thought about it. “Breakfast,” he said.

“This morning?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

He shook his head. He may not be sure how long it had been, but it had been long enough to know it wasn’t the same day. “Before.” He waved his hand to indicate, just, everything. He couldn’t say it yet. They were burning Sam in the morning, and he couldn’t say that Sam was—that Sam was dead.

“Dean, that was two days ago. You need to eat, even if you aren’t hungry,” Jody said. She sighed. “Believe me, I get it, but,” she hesitated, “Sam would want you to take care of yourself.”

“Where’s Cass?” he asked.

Claire spoke up. “Pretty sure I saw him in the kitchen with Jack.”

Dean nodded. “I should go check on them.”

Alex pushed him back into the chair. “Eat. I’ll go grab them for you.”

 

Sam and Cass looked around the bar as the music on the jukebox changed to a new song. “Do you remember this night?” Cass asked.

Sam took a moment, then replied, “Our first dance. Our first kiss.”

Cass slid his hand into Sam’s palm and led them to the dance floor. Everything around them lost focus. Even the potent smell of alcohol and sweat seemed diminished. It felt like they were the only ones left in the world. “I’m afraid I have a confession to make.”

They danced; Sam made a small noise in acknowledgement.

“I am not really Castiel. At least, not all of him.” When Sam started to pull away he hurried to explain. “Several years ago, you asked me to possess you, just for a moment, so that you would always carry a piece of my grace with you. After everything you have experienced, I could think of no higher honor, so I agreed to do it. To know that you trust me so completely—” He shook his head. “I am that piece of grace. I’ve done my best to keep you safe over the years, given you healing when I could. But I was always connected to my larger self. The spell has cut me off from that completely. I suppose, in a way, I am now your grace, and no one else’s.”

Sam frowned as they swayed to the music. “Why are you telling me this?”

Cass sighed. “Because I believe I also contain your worst memories.”

“Hell,” Sam said simply.

“It drove you mad, nearly killed you once already,” Cass said.

“I didn’t have you then,” Sam answered, tracing Cass’s jaw.

Cass leaned into Sam’s touch. “I may not be able to protect you.”

Sam leaned forward, resting his forehead against Castiel’s. “I know,” he swallowed and clenched his jaw, “but I trust you. And I’m ready. Can we have one more dance first though?”

 

Dean stood quietly in the doorway to Sam’s room, roll of linen in hand. It was time, and he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to go through with this part. He swallowed, licked his lips and ducked his head. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and stepped forward. “I’m sorry, man. You know, I never really thought we’d get here. Me, doing this for you. Always figured it’d be the other way around. And sorry I’m not letting Cass help. I know it’s hurting him, too, seeing you like this. I—I just need to be the one to do this. After all those other times—” He worked his jaw as a tear finally escaped, sliding down his face. “Right. Let’s do this.”

He gently unrolled the shroud and laid it over Sam’s still form. Taking the ties he’d brought, he started tucking the ends of the shroud under his brother’s feet and tying it tight.

 

They danced to another three songs, in fact, before Sam really felt ready. Cass gently cradled Sam’s cheek, taking one last look at this marvelous boy he’d fallen in love with. Sam’s eyes were closed, his body tense as he braced himself for the pain of Hell to come flooding back. Cass leaned forward, brushing his lips against Sam’s before pressing in firmly, deepening the kiss. He let go of the essence of himself, pushed all that he was into Sam’s being. The bad, yes, but also the grace. Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to protect Sam’s soul this way.

 

Sam took a huge gasping breath and sat up straight. He flailed under a sheet, coughing the stagnant air out of his lungs. He panicked a little when he realized his legs were restrained and struggled to free them. Then he felt hands on his shoulders, exploring his face, his head, his sides. He looked up, found himself staring into Dean’s shocked green eyes.

“Sam?”

God, Dean sounded broken. Sam remembered his time in the woods with Cass, mostly, and before that the witch. He knew something had happened. It must have been a close one. “Hey,” he said, not sure how else to respond.

In another moment, Dean had him in a near stranglehold, muttering, “Don’t you ever do that again.”

Sam held on and murmured reassurance that he’d do his best. When Dean finally pulled back, Sam managed to get a glimpse of what was tangled up around his feet, and he realized this one had been much closer than he’d thought. “Dean? What--?”

Dean followed Sam’s gaze and immediately started untying his legs and pulling the shroud away. “Yeah, sorry. I—Sam.” Words had evidently failed Dean. “What the hell happened?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Sam said. “But from my end, I was, uh, swimming around in my memories, I think. Kind of lost. Cass saved me.”

“Cass?”

Sam gave Dean the short version of what he remembered, leaving out the part about regaining everything involved with Hell. He would tell Dean, later, when he hadn’t just come back from the dead. Right now, he just wanted to see Cass. Luckily, Dean had entered full mother hen mode, and was busying himself with gathering the supplies he’d brought in and talking about grabbing Sam a plate of food, seeing as how he hadn’t eaten for the last three days. After a minute, Dean was out the door.

A moment later, Cass’s face appeared in the doorway. When he spotted Sam sitting up, his head dropped to the side in confusion.

Seeing Cass again felt like seeing a miracle. Sam grinned, and he knew his dimples were out in full force. He wasn’t sure exactly what had happened after that kiss, but he couldn’t feel Cass’s grace inside him anymore. He’d never noticed it before, when it was present, but now there was a palpable loss that ached. Being in the same room as Cass made that ache vanish.

“Sam.” Cass’s face was unreadable, but Sam could feel confusion, awe, and most of all, love radiating off him.

He didn’t know what was going to happen now, but he knew it was going to be ok.


End file.
